Have you heard of Harry Houdini” He died in 1926. Before that, he called himself The Greatest Magician the World has Ever Known. Other people called him that, too. This guy was good! He was celebrated all over the world, not only for slight-of-hand magic, but for his death-defying stunts as well. He was a confident, some said cocky, showman who developed a consuming interest in the theory of a life after death or as he called it, “the Afterlife”. He talked openly about the possibility of a soul returning here in some form after death. Wow. That would be some trick.

Harry liked to debunk the occultists who were somewhat popular back then. If anybody were going to magically bring back a departed soul it would be Harry Houdini the Greatest Magician the World has Ever Known. He would attend séances where some occult medium would contact dead souls, usually for money.

Houdini would sit holding hands with, perhaps, a family. The lights would be dimmed or-turned off altogether. The medium would enter the room, complete the circle of held hands and start an incantation. Soon after, the group would hear furniture move, smell smoke, or hear bells ring.  These are the kind of signals that could only be interpreted as signs from a returning loved-one who had passed into the great unknown.

Harry proved time and time again that these, so called, mediums were no more than amateur magicians. After the séance ended, he would turn on the lights, then walk around the room exposing all the hidden gizmos that brought the dead back to life.

He died in 1926. You must remember: This guy was the Greatest Magician the World has Ever Known. Picture Harry laying on his deathbed, holding his wife’s hand and breathing heavily. He looks at her then whispers, “If there is anyway for a soul to return here after death, it will be I, Harry Houdini the Greatest Magician the World has Ever Known.  I’ll be back home on my Birthday.”  And then, he was gone.

This happened in Detroit, Michigan on Halloween, October 31,1926. A newspaper reporter scooped the story and on March 24, 1927 the old Houdini house on East College Avenue in Appleton, Wisconsin was jammed and surrounded by anxious people waiting to welcome Harry back home on his birthday.

Houdini didn’t show, in fact nothing was unusual in Appleton that night except for the large crowd of believers assembled at Harry’s house. He has never shown. Even today a few hopeful, adventurous Pilgrims show up for his birthday and reunion party, but not Harry.

Have I mentioned that I’m an old fart who’s pushing 70-years-old? I have been trying to solve this afterlife thing for a long time. I’ve made arrangements with many of my friends, some are still alive, but more of them are already dead. Our agreement to prove the existence of an afterlife is quite simple: After you die, you have up to 24 hours to contact at least one of the others in their bedroom using an acceptable signal.  My wife hates this part because she has to sleep on the couch. Mostly because she hates the smell of melting wax and the light from the 8 to 10 candles I burn in our bedroom on these vigil nights.  “Suit yourself.” I say. I close the door behind her, light the candles, turn off the lights, and get ready.

Okay. I will admit that I have fallen asleep, just for a little while, I think, during just a couple of these opportunities, but I’ve been awake for most. Waiting. Waiting.  Waiting. Waiting for that book to fall, or perhaps a photo frame collapsing. The air could turn colder, or the candles could go out. Even one unusual event would be proof enough. There’s a huge list of phenomenon that our members will accept from fallen comrades.

As of this date, no one has made it. At one time I had faith. I thought that perhaps Harry Houdini, the Greatest Magician the World has Ever known, had found the return portal, but then got stuck in it. I can picture him grunting and furiously kicking his angelic legs while my dead friends unsuccessfully try to pry him out. Jeepers. I hope not.

I’ve made an arrangement with my friends and our agreement is sacred to me. None of them have returned during my vigils. Something is wrong. I can feel it. I rehearse, train and practice every night so that my very last thought before death will be:

I’m going into the Afterlife to pull Harry Houdini, the Greatest Magician the World has ever known, out of that return portal.